Page 3 of The Demons of Wychwood

THE PASSAGE

The peephole for room eight was set low down on the wall, and close to the fire surround which was a bloody stupid place to put it if you asked me! I crouched to get an eyeful, and within a few minutes I was sweating like a dog and undid the top buttons at my collar.

The men in the room were in their latter years, their bodies no longer parade ground fit, but they seemed to have no care about pot bellies, untamed body hair, and sagging jowls.

As soon as the bedroom door was closed and locked, they had at one another as if they were in the first flush of youth, kissing, making indecent, filthy demands, and roughly tugging at each other’s clothing.

It was as if they’d hidden their desires for too long and would drop down dead if they didn’t act swiftly.

I supposed for men like us, this was indeed the truth, and I was pleased that, even though we were breaking the law, I was playing a part in bringing lonely men a few snatched moments of happiness.

It didn’t take long for the lovers to be rolling and wresting on the grand bed, bare pink arses on display as one prepared the other for a pounding.

The grunts, moans, and filthy words they said to each other made my pecker twitch, but the sight of this older, pasty-skinned couple was a curiosity and not what I was here for.

I rose and made my way through the secret passages.

The smell behind the walls was of stale air, mouse piss, and dampness.

I paused at each room and peered through the peephole to check out the entertainments.

As I travelled, I wondered what the passages were used for originally–and if the first master of Wychwood was a scoundrel.

I’d missed the fun in room two, the naked couple were sprawled on the bed in a tender loving embrace—their glistening spend on each other’s hairy bellies as they spoke softly to each another.

Room four’s occupants were in the midst of a game of strip poker with one player down to his small clothes, and the other missing only his shirt.

Room five was vacant, but then I reached room six.

Here I put the lantern on the floor, stood tall and pressed myself to the wall in the keenest anticipation.

I’d waited all month for this.

I’d dreamed of the mysterious, handsome stranger every night since I’d last watched him come undone, whimpering, and sweating.

It was a treat to watch him give in to his desires.

I knew what I was doing was pure madness, but my heart raced and fear mixed with arousal as I awaited the arrival of Mr.27.

Every erotic act of each living soul in Wychwood was against the law and could see them hang.

But still, no matter the risks, the allure of pleasure drew them to this house of sin and I too was wrapped in the tendrils of illicit, unlawful desire.

The fact that I was able to look, take my fill and not be seen was too much of a temptation to resist.

Watching other men enjoying the kind of sex I longed to partake in was enough for the moment.

Looking, and remaining anonymous fired my imagination and kept my hand busy during my rare private time.

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